Australian Summers Are No Longer Normal – Part 1

A Five-Part Series on Heat, Health, and Survival

Summer heat waves, pets and personal health dramas

When my Cleo passed away due to complications to Cushing’s, I needed a hole to fill, so I went looking for another dog, and that’s when I met a beautiful five year old boy named Wombat whose spirit seemed to be broken. In fact that’s what attracted me to him. This heartbroken look in his eyes tore at my heart strings. I knew that pain well.

Wombat, a cattle dog x staffy was given the back story by his surrenderer, without going into too much detail, was basically a very naughty disobedient boy which started fights and chased cats and humped everything in sight.

None of which was true. Granted, he WAS food aggressive, but who wouldn’t be if they’ve lived on the street for a number of years where a matter of survival meant finding any food that was available.

In fact, Wombat had been tested in a previous pound before he ended up in the pound where I found him, and it was proven that he was both cat and dog friendly and was even gentle with chickens!

I had chosen Wombat to be a companion for my then senior girl, Milly, a Maltese x Shih tzu. It was how he responded to her and respected her space that secured his future in my care, when he proved just how gentle he could be with a little dog.

When Milly died, I felt bad for Wombat. He only knew this little companion for less than a year and already he became an only dog. So I searched again.

When I reached out to Golden Oldies Animal Rescue, they pointed to a little five year old Miniature Maltese who was the spitting image of Milly, but at least a head smaller. I was introduced to her as Pink, yes, that was her name.

But Pink made it clear that she was a little diva and SHE had decided that if she was to have a new mummy, she was going to have a new name, and although I was told she’d respond to her name, she never did. It took me a couple days to figure out she wanted a new name, and a couple more days to figure out what it would be.

Princess was the name she chose for herself.

Although Princess had been raised as an only dog, she was familiar with another family member’s dog who was a cattle dog even though she didn’t live with this other dog.

I initially believed she was dog friendly as both Princess and Wombat clicked from the first moment they met, but I would find out during one vet visit that in fact, Princess did not like any other dog, going by the way she went for a ten week old labrador puppy that was basically the same size as her.

After this realisation, I felt both blessed and grateful that Princess and Wombat clicked and I didn’t have any dramas between them.

All went well for the next five years.

Princess and Wombat lived their best lives, playing with each other, socialising with my cats, dictating my routines, making it clear that everything I did revolved around them and was about them.

Then in her 10th year, Princess was diagnosed with Cushing’s. Having had a dog, Cleo, with Cushing’s in the past, and knowing that the meds required for this was basically a hit and miss, I decided to focus on quality of life for Princess and not quantity.

Over the next year, the normal complications arose in dogs that are aging as well as Cushing’s related conditions. She developed cataracts within months of her diagnosis, thereby making her mostly blind. She appeared to adapt to this better than I did as her carer.

To prevent further confusion in her caused by her blindness, I had no choice but to start confining her to a smaller part of the house, and although I felt extremely bad for doing this, the Vet said it was the right thing to do as it’s less of an area for her to remember and again, Princess adapted to this.

In November of 2026, I decided to take her for a check up to make sure all was going well with her, to see how far along her Cushing’s was and try to estimate how much longer I have with her.

The Vet was pleased with her results. She didn’t have diabetes and her Cushings hadn’t caused her to decline too much. Yes, she had become more fragile, but she was holding her own. Without saying anything to confirm, the Vet hinted at the fact that if she didn’t show any signs of decline, she should be able to see Christmas and her 12th birthday in February of 2026.

Around the middle of December, during an umpteenth heatwave, one particularly hot day hit, pushing over 40 degrees. Although I kept both my dogs inside with portable aircon on and fans in every room, the internal temps reached well into the 30s.

Princess had developed heat exhaustion. The first sign was that she stopped eating treats. Within 12 hours, she began to throw up any water she drank. By the next day, she had stopped eating.

Despite it only being 2 weeks since her last visit, I had guessed that she was suffering from heat exhaustion so decided to take her to the vet again. A few hours later and blood test results showed that Princess was in complete kidney failure.

It took me an hour following to realise this can’t be fixed. This is irreversible and even if I tried to send her to SASH, there was no guarantee she would survive. Her odds of living was 50% and even if they were able to fix her, it was certain that her health would decline again. It left me no choice but to farewell her.

I did feel guilty that night, not giving a Wombat a chance to farewell her before taking her to the vet, assuming she’d come back home with me, if not that night, the next day at the latest. I was totally unprepared for the farewell.

But Wombat knew. He had sniffed her intently the night before, and I had scolded him, thinking he was just being a cheeky boy in the way canine boys can be. But he knew. He picked up something was wrong with her and he knew. and the morning after I farewelled Princess, when I broke the news to him that Princess won’t be coming home, he emitted a sob in a way that showed that he knew, and understood.

Still numb at the thought of having only one dog now after so many years of having two, I decided to take Wombat for his first checkup. He had never needed one before because he always appeared in peak health, but after one nasty surprise and with Wombat being in his twelfth year now, I decided it was time he visited a vet again since his last visit to a vet was shortly after I adopted him.

I had noticed a few days before the vet visit that his eyes had clouded over telling me that he had cataracts, so I knew he was also going blind. It also partially became a matter of urgency when, on the day prior to me taking him, his back legs started to collapse under him.

I had initially guessed arthritis and prayed that I wasn’t wrong again. I had thought I was wrong about Princess’ heat exhaustion, but after much thought re her passing, I realised that high likelihood that she did have heat exhaustion which is what exacerbated her already fragile condition, sending her kidneys over the edge.

But I was terrified that I was wrong about Wombat. I wanted, so badly, for it to be arthritis and nothing more sinister. I was so scared for him.

During his visit at the Vet, Wombat was suspected to have spinal disease causing his weakness in the hindlimbs. The most likely cause will be lumbosacral disease which is a compression of the spinal cord at the level of the lumbosacral joint.

The Vet also made note of Wombat’s constant pacing in the room and recognised this as Canine Cognitive Dysfunction (or CCD), otherwise known as Doggy Dementia. A condition, for the record, that can also be exacerbated by extremely hot weather through symptoms like dehydration, disrupted sleep, overall physical stress which in turn amplifies confusion and agitation.

I wasn’t too worried about the dementia. When it came to cognitive decline in pets, having had one cat and at least two dogs in the past also dealing with dementia, this certainly wasn’t my first rodeo.

But I was seriously concerned re his spine and asked what can be done to help him walk again without collapsing. The vet put him on Meloxicam, an anti-inflammatory, which, as soon as I started treatment, DID help him for a while.

Further examination showed that he also had a very loud heart murmur, but how bad his heart was couldn’t be determined until he had an echo-cardiogram. A test that would set me back $1200. Money I didn’t have at this point in time.

Princess tests and passing had already set me back over $1100 and Wombat’s blood tests were somewhere around another $500. I was already pushing my Vetpay limits and needed to save up some money before he could have that test done, perhaps six months to a year.

All I could do was pray that Wombat would stay healthy until such time as I could get that test done. The upside was that his blood tests improved that all his other organs had a clean bill of health. Something which even surprised the Vet as, in his words, “I’ve never seen a dog at this age have no problems with their organs”.

So my only concerns were basically his spine, his heart, blindness, which was also confirmed, and his mental decline.

A couple weeks later, I bumped into a dear friend who, many years earlier, fell in love with Wombat. She had asked me how he was doing and I was giving her an update on his health.

She asked me if she could please take him on. I insisted NO. I’m not one to give up pets for any reason and I wasn’t about to start now. Besides, I needed him to grieve Princess, and he needed me for the same reason.

But she pleaded with me, insisting she could do everything possible to help him live his best final years. I knew she lived in the country with family, and she had some land. She had a little seven year old Staffy x of her own as well as loads of cats.

With decades of experience in various fields of the pet industry, there was no one I would sooner entrust Wombat to than this person and her family. I told her I’d think about it.

I didn’t want to. Every fibre of my being said NO. I would NEVER let go of one of my furbabies.

But this was my selfishness, pride and guilt talking:-
SELFISHNESS – Wombat is MY baby. He’s always been MY baby. NO ONE ELSE’S!! MINE!!! And MINE alone!! And I DON’T want to share him!!!
PRIDE – I can do this!! Wombat is MY responsibility!! * chose to adopt him!! What’s that saying? “I made my bed”? Wombat was MY choice!! I alone had to deal with this!!! I’M not going to let people think less of me by caving in and giving Wombat to someone else like he was a problem that I couldn’t handle! He wasn’t a probably at all!! He was MY responsibility.
GUILT – Who does that?!? Who rehomes a dog just because his health is declining!! That just shows irresponsibility on the part of the owner, and even immaturity.

I realised, it wasn’t just about me. I had to consider Wombat as well.

With my friend’s years of experience, and the fact that she is still working, she had the ability to do what I couldn’t
– For starters, SHE could help physically support him – Wombat weighs 20kgs. I can only lift 10. If Wombat were to physically collapse, she had more luck getting him back on his feet better than I ever could.
– Although I could afford his spine meds, SHE could cover any tests required for his heart much sooner than I ever could, thereby giving him a better chance of living longer.
– If worse comes to worse in the future, SHE would have more luck sourcing a doggy wheelchair, something I know would cost in the hundreds, if not thousands.

As well as these points, there were other advantages for Wombat:-
– Wombat had recently lost his second doggy companion. He would have a new companion in her much younger Staffy x.
– She had heaps more cats than me and Wombat adored cats.
– She also had a lot more land than me.
– Finally, she and her family have the physical ability to walk him more, giving him the exercise he needed to hopefully prevent further decline.

After much sobbing and heartbreak, I finally decided that even though I didn’t want to, for Wombat’s benefit, I would let her take him. It didn’t stop me from feeling like the worst human around.

I had decided to give him a long farewell and release him at the end of January.

But plans changed when I learned that the week prior, we would have another excessively hot day. Heat had already exacerbated the health of one dog, and with the hard lesson I learned through Princess’ passing, and keeping Wombat’s heart murmur in mind, I decided to ask my friend if she could take Wombat a week earlier than planned.

Again, I didn’t want to and it broke my heart to make this decision, but if I didn’t want the weather to exacerbate Wombat’s heart, I needed to do right by him.

A little bit of research after the fact showed me that had he remained with me during that day, with what I know now, there is a very high likelihood that he wouldn’t have survived.

My friend had taken him to do some further blood tests. The results came back later that day. He was diagnosed with High Range Heart Failure. There really was a very high likelihood that the extreme heat could have sent his heart over the edge.

Thanks to my friend, he’s now on heart meds, an even stricter diet than I already had him on, and wears a cooling jacket every time he goes outside.

They had hoped to give him the best years of his life, but their goal has changed to just making him comfortable for whatever time he has left.

I wasn’t immune to this extreme weather either.

The second extreme heat wave of the summer had me developing heat exhaustion which, in turn, weakened my immune system. Having lymphoedema in my legs as well as diabetes, the weakened immune system caused the skin on my left leg to start breaking down, which meant daily dressing changes to prevent further issues.

After a week of intense personal care and regular dressings, I finally got in to see my doctor and she put me on antibiotics.

Once the two rounds of antibiotics were complete, I was stuck in the continuation of doing my own dressing as the repeated heatwaves limited my chance to visit the clinic and having them done professionally.

Over time, and countless dressing changes on myself, I became meticulous in my own nursing skills, fine tuning where necessary to minimise aggravation of the skin whilst it was healing.

Somewhere around the time when I had taken Wombat to the vet, we had another heat wave. This heat wave affected my already compromised healing skin, thereby triggering localised cellulitis.

I had had cellulitis countless times in the past and knew the symptoms to look out for: fever, chills and rigors. But none of these symptoms appeared. All I got was a localised area on the back of my leg acting more and more like a banshee.

By the third week of what felt like a demon possessed banshee of a leg, I decided this level of pain had to be absolutely illegal, so I caved and decided to see my doctor, and it was then the diagnosis of localised cellulitis, something that was very new to me, entered the conversation.

Despite everything I had been doing right with my self-care, once again, the extreme weather, that had pushed the health of one dog over the edge, almost severely comprised a second dog, was now playing havoc with my own body.

And this was not due to leaving dogs in cars or even out in the yards. This was keeping dogs INSIDE the house, and remaining inside the house myself and not going out in hot weather.

Since December, I have been grieving the loss of two dogs and, after approximately four or five months of self wound care, the memory of having a relatively healthy leg. One with lymphoedema yes, but I have forgotten what it’s like to have a leg that doesn’t torture me with extreme pain every day with every little thing I do.

This is just my story. My own experience makes me question: how then, do others cope Australia wide in houses that aren’t built for this level of heat.

In part two, of this series, I will be looking into heatwaves in general and how it’s affecting our environment.

Thank you for reading.

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